I dislike people. I dislike their smell, their words, their arrogance, their inherent meanness. They swarm and conquer like ants. They pounce unsuspectingly on a downtrodden earth, forcing it into submission with disease and an imposition of humanness.
The word “humane” distresses me. How supercilious of the human race to create a word meaning “goodness” and “kindness” and yet turn it into a reflection of the very beings who created it. On my stagnant journeys through life I've met more humane hamsters than I have people.
Eddie Izzard, reigning god of comedy and commentary, eloquently portrays the perfect scenario of the evil that doesn't exist in animals. His “Evil giraffe” skit brings tears of laughter to my eyes, and, simultaneously, enrages my over-worked bile duct. A dog takes a biscuit and is called a “bad dog.” The dog looks inquisitively up at his owner and says in a voice that would make James Mason proud, “Who are you to judge me? You human beings who've had genocide, war against people of different creeds, colours, religions. And I stole a biscuit? Is that a crime?” The owner proceeds to give his dog another biscuit. Between snorts of laughter, I find myself seething with anger after watching this scene. Why do people think that in desecrating the world we live in, we somehow have laid some kind of claim to it. Who are we to call a dog bad for stealing a biscuit? It's us who need to be slapped a few times around the face with a rolled up newspaper and sent, tail between our legs, to an afternoon in a kennel.
I'll admit that I've tried this method with people. Neither my sister or the now ex-friend appreciated the treatment very much though. Whilst we reprimand our animals for their badness, they frequently show more humanity than we ever could. There's a clip on Youtube that could wrench the guts out of even the most hardened criminals. It depicts a dog being hit by a car on the highway. None of the drivers stop for him. He lies there, crumpled and broken while the assholes in their sedans drive passed, content in their hybrid, air-conditioned, gass-spewing pouches of vehicular safety. Another dog, who witnessed the dramatic hit from the pavement, puts his own life on the line to cross the bustling highway to retrieve the injured dog. He places both of his front paws around the patient and drags him to the safety of the pavement. The “humanity” encased in metal speed passed, oblivious to the miracle enrolling on the tar outside. Tell me, who was more humane? The rescue dog, who saved the life of the other on his own munition, or the drivers who ignored the whole scenario?
I've considered convincing others to no longer refer to anyone being humane. Rather, try “hamsterane,” “canine,” even “frogane.” Anything but humane. We need to stop bigging ourselves up, inflating our already Zeppelin-like heads, hero-worshipping, pretending that the sun shines out of our every orifice. We do not rule the world, we're just labouring under the misapprehension that we do. Viva la era of caninity. Dogs, I will follow you into the vicious throngs of battle.